Red Soles

It was perhaps marketing genius for a certain shoemaker to slap high-gloss red lacquer soles on his designer shoes. I won’t mention the brand because let’s face it, I am not getting any income for mentions or click-throughs. It’s enough that A-list late-show guests cross their legs just so to flash their shiny red bottoms. Even TV shows elevate the status of their high-profile characters with scenes of them walking up the courthouse steps, red soles punctuating their upward movement.

High dollar soles at the bottom of feet, the lowly workhorse, the foundation of the human body, supporter of the working systems, the dirtiest of appendages.

During Easter Week, I reread the story of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples. If you have ever participated in such a cleansing ceremony, both washing and being washed, you know how moving it can be. In a modern reciprocal ritual of service and honor, one rinses pristine and pedicured feet with loving caresses. Compare that to a savior, a messiah, sent by the Creator to change the world, kneeling to serve in this way. The washing was intimate, maybe embarrassing, but the disciples were seen. Their days spent walking in sandals fashioned from leather soles and straps through towns with no system of removing dirty water and waste were noticed. Their work was worthy.

I was thankful for closed shoes when I visited a country where guests remove footwear when entering a home. My daughter explained the hygienic importance of this long held custom. Shoes carry us through the world. Sometimes that path cuts through the market where all manner of dirt, slop and even excrement collects or runs in rivulets. After our trip there to buy spices and fresh fruit, I washed those shoes. Was I grossed out? I admit, yes. Did it change my world view? Of course. Travel always does, unless you aren’t paying attention. Today, seeing a barefoot child running through a big box store brings me right back to those markets half a world away. Target and Walmart floors are immaculate by comparison, but still, no telling what has been carried by soles trudging through those aisles.

Walking barefoot through a field connects us to nature, grounding us in the most rudimentary way. Soaking our soles in a warm bath soothes us to the core, especially after a hard day. Modern conveniences may transport us to the online worlds of commerce and teaching and entertainment, but taking steps forward feed the soul in a different way. What trail do we leave behind? What hope or encouragement can others find in our footsteps?

Where do your feet carry you? Each step around the kitchen to prepare a meal is an act of service. Every tread down the hallway or up the stairs to wish a child sweet dreams is an expression of love. Driving or taking a bus or subway to your job is just another way in which your feet carry you to serve your world.

Could those red-soled shoes guarantee to never give you blisters from walking miles or standing all day? Maybe then they would be worth their cost, upwards of a thousand bucks and more. But I jest. Of course not, the price is merely a premium paid for an upgrade to one’s social status. But what of your soul status? Red soles of worn and rugged feet, perhaps bleeding from blisters, may be the greatest symbol of all.